


spring, or something like it

by encanta



Series: a rush of blood to the head [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Forgiveness, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Post-capture of Hannibal, Snow, Sort Of Fluff, Will is good, Will is really good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-23 20:27:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1578476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/encanta/pseuds/encanta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a couple months after hannibal's capture, alana comes in from the cold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	spring, or something like it

Will saw the screen of his phone light up before it actually made any noise, a quick three buzzes alerting him to a text message he hadn’t been expecting until about an hour ago. No one had really texted him before, and no one really texted him now, but he wasn’t surprised to see the message from Jack: _Alana Bloom is back in town_.

It was unclear, given the lack of context, whether it was a warning or not.

He wasn’t surprised, only because Alana was currently laid out on the old, worn rug in front of his fireplace, a ratty afghan tucked gently around her body, made mostly unnecessary by the blazing fire he rose to stoke every time it threatened to get low. She had a dog on any given side of her, all of them tucked tight against her body in a cocoon-like formation, soldiers keeping an ever-steady vigil.

The dogs understood what people needed better than he did, sometimes, and he was glad to have them around, especially given what had transpired earlier that evening.

It was the first snow of the first winter since Hannibal Lecter had been shut away behind the bars and locked doors of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, and where typically spring was thought to be a time of rebirth, there was something about the snow that struck in Will’s chest pangs of something new.

He watched it fall in thick blankets, dogs nosing at his legs and his waist like they too wanted to peer out the window, before he finally headed down into the cellar to gather some wood he’d chopped the month prior. The dogs gave excited yips as he lit newspaper and stuck it quickly between the logs, sitting back on his haunches to make sure the flames were taking. It wasn’t long before he had a healthy fire going, and an obstacle course of mutts lounging lazily in front of it.

Warmth crept out into the little sitting room and Will settled himself on the couch with a book. To call this peace would be an embellishment, but he could feel those tiny, hopeful buds pressing up through the soil of his being, May flowers blooming in winter. It wasn’t peace, but it was definitely the start of something wonderful.

After the dust had cleared around the Ripper case, Will had been offered back his teaching position at the FBI academy, which he’d dove into headfirst. He’d needed the distraction, something he and his new therapist had agreed on, especially after Alana had left town.

It’d only been a couple of months, but when she showed up on his door step tonight, eyes a bright, scared blue, Will realized that it’d felt like forever.

“Alana,” he said, surprised. He had a hand on the door and his body in the doorway, but Applesauce had come up from behind the pack, pushing through them and then in between Will’s legs to get to her mother.

She butted against Alana’s knee excitedly, yipping and barking and wagging her tail so hard Will thought she might take off like a rocket. The only other time he’d seen a dog like that was the first time he’d laid eyes on Winston after coming home from the hospital. Still, Alana didn’t seem to notice. She was still staring at him, or maybe right through him, mouth closed in a thin line and her eyes far-off.

“She missed her mama,” Will said, watching her carefully as she blinked and looked down. It was only then that she acknowledged Applesauce, who’d begun to jump up toward her, trimmed nails scratching against the material of her leggings.

“Applesauce,” she breathed, the first word he’d heard her speak in many, many months, those two tiny syllables zipping straight up his spine. She’d gotten down on her knees, kneeling on the snow covered welcome mat so she could hug the dog into her chest, eyes closed and long eyelashes fanned out against her skin. Will stood there, watching silently, until Alana began to shake from the cold, still hugging her dog, who’d gone still and pliant in her arms.

“Let’s get inside,” Will suggested, afraid of shattering the moment. Alana lifted her head to look at him, still a bit far-off, then nodded and took his offered hand. Inside, she stomped the slush off her boots but didn’t remove them. His eyes swept over her and he realized that all of her skin was covered up by clothing; instead of her usual skirt and blouse, she was wearing thick leggings, a trim peacoat, and a black scarf tied up under her throat in a loose bow. With a jolt, he realized that she’d probably nabbed that idea from Abigail.

“Can I take your coat?” he asked, shutting the door behind her. They’d let some of the warmth out and the fire had started to wane in his absence, so he padded across the sitting room to add a log to the blaze. Soon the room was bright and warm again, shadows dancing across Alana’s cheeks as she stood awkward near the door.

“I’m cold,” she lied, even though the room was cozy comfortable. Her hand was bunched in Applesauce’s thick fur and she thought the dog might try and tug away, but she stayed close by her side as Alana waited for Will to invite her in further. There was nothing about her right now that felt like she belonged in his space, or deserved a moment of being in his space.

Still, she could only run for so long.

Will nodded and gestured to the couch, inviting her to sit. Should he have felt awkward around her? Angry? Perhaps in a sterile, clinical setting, like at the academy or in passing, he might have. Here, in the warmth of his house, with the fire going and the dogs stretched out again on the floor and Alana holding onto Applesauce like she was the very last thing left alive, he couldn’t find the ability to feel any of those things.

She moved to the couch and Applesauce flooded into her lap, all fur and tongue and puppy love.

“Thank you for looking after her,” she said, well aware he’d once said the same thing to her, although the circumstances were strikingly different. Alana had just run, totally unable to take care of herself, let alone a creature that needed her. Will had been … had been…

She shut her eyes tight as Will hovered to the left of the couch, unsure if he should sit down or not. Eventually he did, at the opposite end, giving her a wide berth. The woman before him was not the same woman he’d met – she was a wound scabbing over with brand new tissue. She was an angry, red scar, and he didn’t feel pity for her, so much as he felt angry. Hannibal had pitted them all against each other, manipulated them, and he’d wanted so very badly for Alana to come out unscathed, even though he’d known that was an impossibility.

At least, he thought, she was still alive. There was something to be said for that.

(He just wasn’t sure what it was).

They sat in silence, because Will didn’t want to push conversation if she didn’t want any. She’d curled into herself on the couch, arms wrapped tight around Applesauce. Minutes rolled out and after almost an hour of decidedly haunted silence, Alana turned to look at him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, sounding genuine. A bit more personality had entered her tone, even in just those two words. “I’ve gotten used to being quiet.”

Will nodded, unsure of what to say, his hands clasped between his knees. “Do you want some tea?” he asked eventually, rising off the couch even before she nodded.

When he came back, two steaming mugs in his hands, she’d taken off her jacket and folded it neatly over the back of the couch, her gloves settled on top. The scarf was still looped tight against her throat, a strange sort of armor meant to keep everyone at bay. She jumped a little when their hands touched during the exchange of the mug, but she managed not to spill any of the liquid.

“Thank you, Will.” Her lips were turned just slightly upward, like he would have missed it if he blinked, and he realized she wasn’t just thanking him for the tea.

“I didn’t know where else to go. I don’t think I can go back to my apartment yet.”

And Will knew what that was like, too.

They sipped their tea in silence, the warmth coursing through him now, all his nerves lit like a fuse. Alana had relaxed a bit into the couch, mug balanced in one hand, the other still touching Applesauce at all times. She didn’t feel so far away now, but it just might have been how small his sitting room was.

Eventually, they found themselves on the floor, closer to the fireplace, the same one she’d once seen him tear apart when he was ill. Every so often, Will would stab at the logs with the stoker, or add more newspaper to the flames, and every time he returned to their space on the floor, they got a little closer.

When the silence they’d fallen into finally felt like it was about to spill over, she broke it.

“I feel unstable,” she admitted in a whisper, so her voice wouldn’t break. Will looked over at her, at her strong jaw and how tight it was set, like she was so determined not to cry or make a scene, and put his hand down on hers. When she didn’t pull away, he curled his fingers tighter and pulled their clasped hands onto his knee, their bodies huddled close together, Applesauce’s head resting on her thigh.

He kept the same whisper when he replied, careful not to spook her. “I know. I know.”

He rubbed soft circles into her skin with his thumb, and when she slumped against him he let go only to put a strong arm around her, supporting her weight against him.

The role-reversal was a lot bitter, without a hint of sweet. Even if it meant she’d have never come back here, Will would have given anything for Alana’s stability in that moment.

She’d set her mug aside to curl her free hand in his flannel, her face tucked into his neck, away from the heat of the fire and into a heat that was all him. She didn’t deserve to be here right now, she knew. Not after the accusations and how many times over she’d failed him, and how many times over she’d failed everyone involved in the Chesapeake Ripper case.

But Will didn’t push her away, instead curling his other arm around her, holding her tucked tight against him, and for the first time in a long time she felt warm and safe, like it might finally be okay for her to exist again, like spring might break over the tundra that had frozen her entire being.

They’d stayed like that until Alana had gone lax with sleep, and then he’d carefully settled her down on the rug in front of the fireplace, before tucking the afghan around her. Applesauce had immediately curled up against her, and not long after that the dogs took up their vigil. Will took up a vigil of his own from the couch, where he lay on his side watching Alana, moving only when he needed to tend the fire.

 _Quid pro quo_ , he thought, sleepily, as he watched the crown of her head and how fine wisps of her hair curled against her cheek. Where once she had been his stability, here he could do his best to be hers. Perhaps together they could begin to heal. Perhaps spring would come to them after all.

And outside, the snow continued to fall in Wolf Trap.

**Author's Note:**

> i have plans to continue on with this, i think.


End file.
